


No Good Deed

by Karri



Series: Fête des Mousquetaires [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Fête des Mousquetaires Challenge, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karri/pseuds/Karri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple errand gets complicated.  Written for December’s Fête des Mousquetaires challenge (https://www.fanfiction.net/forum/Fête-des-Mousquetaires/183263/) on the theme of Frozen.  There were lots of great entries before mine, as there are every month, so if you’ve not checked it out yet, wander over and take a look!</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed

 

oOoOoOoOoOo 

Aramis maintained an affable expression as he watched d’Artagnan examine his horse’s leg.  He even managed to shoot a charming smile at Constance as he glanced her direction, checking to see if she had frozen through yet.  She smiled back her assurance that she was managing, but he could see in her eyes the same growing impatience that he felt.   

Still, he could understand d’Artagnan’s position, even sympathize with it.   The need for Constance to ride off into a cold winter’s day on some frivolous royal errand would have been tolerable, potentially even pleasurable, had d’Artagnan been allowed to escort her on his own—especially if the looming snow began to fall, thus granting the couple the opportunity spend the night together in an inn with the claim of needs must and all that to ward off wagging tongues.

As it was, the Captain, presumably wary of such an eventuality, had assigned a two-man escort.  Still, Aramis had considered at the time, not such a bad arrangement, as it would be he and d’Artagnan, and of all the potential companions, Aramis was the least likely to stand in the way of the young lovers had they wished to orchestrate an overnight stay in an inn.   But, alas, the fickle stars that so often crossed young lovers seemed bent against the couple this day, for they were barely three leagues from Paris when d’Artagnan’s horse began to hobble. 

“I do not see the cause,” d’Artagnan announced, shivering and leaning up against the warmth of the horse as he stood to face Aramis. 

Aramis frowned, but not in response to the mystery.  Rather, it was in response to a look in d’Artagnan’s eye which hinted that the youth’s priorities were, perhaps, momentarily misplaced.  “You cannot continue on him, all the same,” Aramis declared, and then as an expression of defiance graced his companion’s face, added, “It would be both foolish and cruel to risk laming the horse for something so petty as this.” 

D’artagnan’s gaze fell to the ground, but after a moment, he nodded reluctant agreement.  Bringing his eyes back up, d’Artagnan gazed _almost_ longingly at Constance, before sighing wistfully.  “I suppose we’d better walk her back to that last village; it’s not too far.   Perhaps they’ll have a horse I can borrow…”

Aramis turned away from D’artagnan’s hopeful gaze and glowered up at the foreboding clouds, instead.  _It’s not too far,_ he acknowledged silently, _but it’s far enough to set us back a bit.  They may have a horse they can spare, but, by the look of the place, they may not; if they do, they’ll not part with it easily, and haggling for it will delay us further, even if we had Athos’s purse at our disposal.  As we don’t, we’ll like as not end up simply sending word to the garrison for another horse, which is yet another delay… And this is the sort of day that will only get colder as time progresses, with the likelihood of snow ever increasing.  Nay, we really must hurry on, for Constance’s sake, if not our own.  But, perhaps…_

“Constance does not really require two escorts,” Aramis stated, casually.  Re-fixing his gaze upon his companion, he suggested, “You take my horse, and I’ll walk yours back to the village and wait there until you return, so that we may all three return to the garrison together.”

D’artagnan returned a dubious raise of a brow; Aramis was not certain if it were directed toward his horse, which was notoriously fickle, or directed toward the thought of leaving Aramis at loose-ends in the village to wait.  Either way, the expression earned d’Artagnan an amused grin.

“No, I think would be better if we stay together,” d’Artagnan decided.

It was the response Aramis expected, so he simply shrugged his shoulder and replied, “If they haven’t a horse to spare?” He raised an eyebrow of his own before quirking his head toward the threatening clouds.  “Surely, you cannot mean to have us wait for another horse to be sent from the garrison…” 

D’Artagnan bit his lower lip as he glowered up into the clouds.  “Perhaps, Constance and I can…” he began, but was stopped by a disapproving shake of the head from Aramis.  “I know, I know,” d’Artagnan responded _almost_ mournfully.  “Riding double for such a distance in this weather, while potentially pleasant, risks the horse, leaving us on foot, as there’d be but one horse left between us.”

Aramis nodded.  “My offer is still good,” he stated, holding the reins out toward his companion. 

D’Artagnan bit his lip again, giving the matter serious consideration, but finally shook his head, with a disappointed huff.  “No, it will go better if you keep your horse, I think,” he acknowledged.  “You two go on, before the weather gets any worse, and I’ll head back toward the village.  I can do a better job tending to the leg there, and, at the very least, can send work back to the garrison.”

Aramis nodded approvingly, and with a sympathetic smile, signaled Constance to follow him.  He waited patiently for her to bring her horse up alongside d’Artagnan, then turned away to allow them the façade of privacy as they whispered to each other.  

“Ready,” Aramis asked, when her horse finally drew up beside his.

“Ready,” Constance replied, amiably. 

Aramis grinned, pleased to see her content enough with his company.  Their relationship had come a long way since she given up slapping him at every possible provocation; _of course, perhaps, she’s given up slapping me at every possible provocation because our relationship had come far enough to make it so,_ Aramis’s considered with a doff of his hat as they set off.  _Either way, I’m glad she’s not disquieted by the situation._

oOoOoOoOoOoOo 

“I’m glad we have nearly arrived,” Aramis quipped, more lightly than he felt, as the spires of Dourdan came into view.  The first three leagues after parting from d’Artagnan had passed pleasantly enough; the weather, though growing colder as predicted, had held well enough that they were able to make good time and still manage some conversation—gossip, women’s fashion and other such things on which Aramis liked to keep abreast, paired with unexpected questions regarding swordsmanship and marksmanship from Constance.  _Yes, quite the entertaining journey,_ Aramis admitted, until...

Two leagues out from Dourdan, the wind had picked up—not unbearably, but certainly unpleasantly—and large, fluffy flakes had begun to fall.  _Hardly a blizzard yet,_ Aramis consoled himself, _but it won’t take much more wind to make it so.  We may yet find ourselves stuck in an inn, despite d’Artagnan’s lamentable absence._   

“Do you expect your errand to take long,” he asked Constance; Aramis hadn’t been given the details of the errand.   

“I shouldn’t think so,” Constance replied, wearily.  The temperature was just warm enough still that most of the falling snowflakes melted as the landed on a warm body, leaving her cloak soaked through. 

Aramis’s grimaced in sympathy.  His leathers offered him a little more protection from the weather, at least he assumed they did.  _Perhaps it is simply a misperception of manliness,_ he considered, with a wry smile. 

“And what are you grinning about?” asked Constance, with an amused smile of her own.  “Your moods are as fickle as the Dauphin’s,” she quipped, “though he, at least, has infancy to excuse him.”

Aramis guffawed amiably, his mood, as always, brightened by the mention of his son.  _I should stop and purchase something for him for Noel,_ he thought merrily.  _If I buy it here, perhaps I can simply tell Constance her mention of the Dauphin brought it to mind and have her deliver it to him innocently enough._

“Anyway, my errand shouldn’t take long. There’s a goldsmith, hm, let’s see…”’  She paused to pull out a paper with the address and handed it across to Aramis.  He smiled wryly at the assumption he might know his way well enough to direct them.   “The Musketeers have escorted the Queen here often enough,” Constance explained, seeing his expression.  “So, well, I suppose you should know your way around well enough, especially to a place like this that sells fine jewelry and what not.”

Aramis chucked again and dutifully doffed his hat, before turning the horse’s head toward the right.  “Indeed, madam,” he confirmed.  “Though his wares are generally beyond that of a mere Musketeer, I have had occasion to visit his workshop a time or two.” 

“Hmmm,” murmured Constance, before adding, with a wink, “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

Aramis laughed lightly.  “It’s a wonder the Queen sent you all the way here for a piece of jewelry,” he remarked a moment later.  “Surely there are sufficient goldsmiths and jewelers in Paris to suit her needs.”

Constance shrugged casually.  “She wants it to be a surprise, I think, and felt like there’d be a better chance of that if the thing weren’t made locally.”

“Hmm,” murmured Aramis in reply, his mood dimming a little as the fanciful wish that gift was for him flittered through his mind.  _It cannot be, of course,_ he reminded himself, fingering the cross she had given him.  _What possible excuse could she find to gift me with another token.  No, it would only garner suspicion, and Anne is too wise for that._

Aramis felt Constance’s eyes flicker to him frequently as they made their way to the artisan’s shop.  He knew his sudden sullenness was concerning her.  _That won’t do,_ he reminded himself.  _She’s a clever girl; if she muses on it too much, she just must put it together._    So, as they reached the artisan’s door, he forced himself to smile merrily as he jumped down and offered his hand, “Here we are, my lady.”

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

“Are you sure you want to try it, Constance?”  Aramis asked as he escorted her from the shop and helped onto her horse.  His gaze flickered up into the still falling snow. 

“It’s no worse than it was when we arrived,” scoffed Constance.  “We’ve hardly been an hour between us.”  She stressed the “between us” as Aramis had kept her waiting to unexpectedly run an errand of his own.  She hadn’t asked what it was, despite the curiosity piqued by the glimpse of him stuffing a package into his doublet before entering the shop to retrieve her, and the effort of not asking had decreased her patience.

“True,” acquiesced Aramis, “but it only started snowing for the latter half of our journey here.  It shall be snowing for the entirety of our journey home, and likely get even colder, as well.” 

Constance nodded.   “It won’t be as pleasant as the journey here, I know,” she agreed, “but I’d rather make a start of it, anyway.” 

“All right,” Aramis acceded reluctantly.  “There is Choisel, four leagues from here.”

“Half way home,” remarked Constance, gaining a half-smile from Aramis. 

“You’re good with a map…,” he complimented. 

“My husband traveled quite a lot in our old life, as you’ll recall,” she replied. 

Aramis nodded, then continued with his original thought.  “We’ll try for that, and then decide from there.   As long as the weather holds…”

Constance nodded, comprehended from his tone that he wasn’t confident in the weather to hold, but was game if she was.  “Off we go, then” she bade, more confidently than she felt.   

oOoOoOoOoOoOo 

There was little of the light conversation as they traveled homeward that there’d been on their journey to Dourdan.  The snow had fallen in large, wet, fluffy flakes just long enough to soak both their cloaks, but had then begun staying where it fell rather than melting.  The wind had not increased, as Aramis had feared it might, but it was now in their faces, instead of against their backs, making it altogether less pleasant.   Constance had her hood of her cloak pulled down low over her face to keep off the sting of the blowing snow, and Aramis, for his part, was ducking into his hat as best he could without losing the road. 

 _Still, we are nearly to Choisel,”_ Aramis reassured himself, more out of hope than certainty.  The blowing snow was disorienting enough that though he was sure of the road still, he was less confident of their exact position on it.   Deciding it was worth the face-full of snow to get his bearings, Aramis slowed his horse as he lifted his hat.

Constance, head too buried in her hood to notice, moved past him.   Aramis considered calling to her.  _No.  I’m not going to get my bearings, anyway, so we may as well keep moving,_ he decided and bent his head to replace his hat, but then his eyes caught it…just barely, as the snow clung to it in a pattern that stood only slightly from the surrounding whiteness—thin twine, strung across the road before them. 

“Constance!” he called out, knowing he was already too late.  Sure enough, even as she halted the horse in alarm, its forward leg caught the twine, and it tumbled, tossing Constance, flailing into snow.  Leaping down, Aramis pulled his pistols, as he ran to her side.  The soft landing had likely cushioned the ground well enough to prevent serious injury, but he hadn’t time to assure himself of that properly.  As he reached her, the robbers he knew must follow burst from the trees.  

Aramis cursed as the nearest two fell to his well-aimed shots.  Pulling Constance to her feet as he drew his sword, Aramis shoved her behind him with the hurried instruction to “Run!”  Constance hesitated, reaching for his dagger, but he shoved her away.  “Go!” he reiterated.  The only robbers to approach from the south side of the road had fallen to his shots; the rest had rushed across from the north side of the road.   _If I can hold them here, she’ll be safe enough,_ he judged, throwing himself into the fight.

 _Come on, Aramis!_ He chastised himself as he fought.  _There’s only four of them!  What’s taking you so long!  Porthos would never let you hear the end of it if he were here to see it._ Aramis knew that wasn’t true, though.  He was holding his own well—another robber had fallen to his sword, despite the slippery footing of snow beneath his feet.  One of the remaining three was clearly having second thoughts, staying on the outside, not fully retreated from the fight, but neither was he fully engaged.  The other two still had some fight in them, but they were growing weary—their skill was rudimentary, at best; it was taking them significantly more effort to deflect Aramis’s blows than was required of him to deflect theirs.  Thus, it was simply his impatience speaking.

The third robber finally decided he’d had enough as Aramis managed a good slice across one of his fellows in front and scampered off.  _One down!_ Aramis thought, with some smugness, despite the growing weariness of his own muscles.  _These two won’t last much longer,_ he assured himself.  _They’re not a professional lot, that’s obvious enough._   _Would have laid a better trap if they were.  More likely…some poor folk down on their luck, I imagine… Picked the wrong party to test themselves out on today, though!_

Aramis pressed forward, his skill outmatching their combined fury…until a startled yell from behind distracted him enough for one of the fellows to lunge downward, catching his thigh and digging in deep.  Aramis retaliated with a quick slash cross the man’s chest, just catching the bottom of an ear as he drove upward.  Yelping, the man hobbled backward, clutching at his ear.  Wide-eyed, the last fellow backed off, as well, and scampered back across the road, dragging his wounded partner with him. 

Aramis didn’t take time to congratulate himself, though, as the yelp had come from Constance, and he now limped off hurriedly in search of her.  A knot of worry tied in his stomach as he followed the indistinct prints he assumed were hers.  _I shouldn’t have sent her off,_ he chastised. _Constance is feisty enough to have held her own against that rabble, and I would have known where she was, at the very least._  

He hobbled on, berating himself as he went until the track stopped abruptly at edge of a shallow ravine.  Aramis’s stomach sank as he knelt on snowy ground and peered down to find Constance, sat up against a tree, but still and lifeless, otherwise. 

More sliding than anything, he made his way to her quickly and knelt down, heart jumping into his throat as he reached for her hood and pushed it back. 

“Aramis!”  she greeted as her face came into view. 

“Constance,” he breathed out, nearly faint with relief.  “I heard…I thought…I feared…” he stammered, suddenly too cold and too tired to form a cohesive thought.    

“I’m all right,” Constance assured him.  “I just tripped on some silly tree root and then couldn’t catch my feet again, so down I slid.”  He tossed her a giddy, infectious smile, that she quickly returned, before her eye caught the blood red trail that marked his path to her.   “I rather think you’re not, though,” she murmured, scrambling out from under his kneeling form and pressing him down in her place.  “You’re wounded,” she declared matter-of-factly and began tearing at his pant leg. 

“Leave it,” Aramis whined, but Constance brush his hand aside as it reached to block her. 

“It’s deep,” she murmured.  “It’ll need stitching…”

Aramis sighed and rested his head against the tree a moment.  He’d comprehended the truth of his wound when it happened, but doubted either of them could manage it in their current setting.  His hands were warm enough inside his gloves to manage a pistol shot and swordplay, but he’d couldn’t work a needle with gloves, and his fingers would grow uncooperative too soon to finish the job without gloves.  

“Perhaps if we take turns,” Constance suggested, seemingly reading his mind.  

“You amaze me, sometimes, Madame,” Aramis replied, with a wry grin.

“Only sometimes,” Constance returned, with a grin of her own.  “Can we do it here, or should we try for the horses, first?” 

“Let’s try for the horses, first,” Aramis answered without hesitation.  He’d last seen the robbers scamper back into the woods, but that didn’t preclude them returning to claim the horses once he’d left.    _Of course, if that were the case, we’re likely too late,_ he admitted to himself as Constance helped him back onto his feet.  _Still, they won’t have made it far, especially if Constance’s horse is lame._

Hopeful, Aramis kept his arm around Constance’s shoulders (to provide her some warmth, not because he leg was going stiff and uncooperative, he told himself) as they made their slow way back to the road.  _It’s fortunate that I left such clear trail to follow,_ he mused with giddy amusement as they tracked back along his blood trail.

Aramis was more astonished that he’d ever admit to find the horses waiting where they’d been left.  Constance’s was back on its feet, though clearly favoring one foot, and Aramis hobbled over to inspect it.  

“Not broken,” he announced, after a minute, breathing a sigh of relief that was matched by Constance. 

“I shouldn’t like to ride him, though,” Constance said, coming along side Aramis to give the horse’s neck a rub.  

Aramis nodded his agreement.  “Looks like we’re down to one horse, after all.”  

“We’ve not lost all our supplies, though; that’s something,” Constance consoled, with a weak smile. 

“That is something,” agreed Aramis.  “We’ll be just fine.”

Constance nodded.  “Your leg, then?”  Aramis shook his head, but Constance was already continuing her argument, “We won’t make it next village without tending to it.  Unless it’s right around the next bend, you’ll pass out before we reach it, and I don’t know that I’ve the strength left to hold you on a horse.”

Aramis ducked his head, hiding his face as he desperately sought a better plan, but none was forthcoming.  The adrenaline of the fight and flight was beginning to fade, leaving him weary and woozy.   Accordingly, the cold was settling into his bones, making every part of him stiff and achy.  Lifting his head, he ran a discerning gaze over Constance.  _Nor is she much better off…_  

“We’ll make a camp, then, but not here,” he insisted, nodding toward the dead men.  “They’ll likely come back for their people sooner or later, and I rather not be here waiting for them.”

Constance nodded, before suggesting, “Let’s bind it for now, then ride up the road a bit.”

“We won’t be able to have much of a fire,” Aramis warned, his voice strained as Constance tore a strip from her petticoat and bound it tightly around his leg.  Her eyes flickered up to his in question.  “While it’s daylight still, we can have a bit of one.  The smoke won’t be visible through this snow, so, as long as we shelter it, it shouldn’t be too obvious…”

“But once night falls, the robbers might see it, even with the snow,” Constance finished for him. 

“It was an easy enough fight this time around,” Aramis acknowledged. “But wounded and weary as we are, it might be a different matter if they catch us encamped.”

Constance swallowed hard, but nodded.  “I can reload your pistols for you before we go…” 

Aramis smile appreciatively.  “I can manage it, though I thank you for the offer.  If you would be so kind and to tie your horse to mine, I’ll load these, then we’ll be off.”

Aramis met her at the horses a moment later, and Constance marveled that he’d been so quick about it, between the cold and his blood loss.  “Here,” he offered, handing her a pistol.   She looked at him dubiously.  “My head is not as clear I would like…”  he explained.  “Better we’re both armed, I think.” 

Constance nodded, shuddering soft comprehension that he’d just admitted he wasn’t certain he was up to another fight if one found them.  “Let’s hope one doesn’t find us,” she murmured under her breath.

“Indeed,” agreed Aramis, smiling reassuringly as she blanched at the realization that he’d heard her.  “Come on!” he prodded, offering her a hand up and then pulling himself up behind her. 

oOoOoOoOoOo

Aramis found a place he deemed suitably sheltered from casual view just less than a league away.  _It’s a good thing,_ he mused.  _I doubt I’d have stayed on the horse much longer._ Though the cold had slowed his bleeding enough that it no longer concerned him overly, the combination of blood loss, shock, cold, and weariness had drained away his strength even faster than either of them expected.  Thus he more toppled than dismounted from the horse when they stopped.

Catching himself with fingers twisted in the mane, Aramis manage to stay upright long enough for the world to right itself.  Once steady, he stepped away from the horse only to realize, to his chagrin, that Constance had already nearly stripped the animal down and was waiting for Aramis to move aside in order to finish. 

“I’ve a tent in my roll,” Aramis announced, as he made way for her.  Constance gaze back blankly at first, then bit her lip uncertainly.  “I can manage it,” he soothed, guessing she’d not idea where to start with a tent.  _They’re tricky enough for experienced hands,_ he decided.  It hardly more than a bit of canvas, a couple poles, and some twine, but still…  He’d rather do it himself and know it was where he wanted it and unlikely to fall down on their head in the night.

Aramis had picked a small copse of tree that blocked the wind from most directions.  The ground, too, had less snow than the road, as the branches had captured much of it.  Additionally, though the white canvas tent would be invisible enough in the snow, regardless, he hoped the cover would also conceal whatever fire they managed.  Thus, there was little space to work with, but tent was small, barely big enough for the both of them, and he soon had it upright.  

He glanced around for Constance as he stepped stiffly away from the tent; his heart jumped into his throat when didn’t find her.  “Constance!” he shouted. 

“Here!” came a reply on the wind.  A moment later, she rustled through the trees with an armload of kindling.  “Most of it is damp, at the least, but I found a few pieces on top here that were sheltered and fairly dry.  We can start with those…”

Aramis grinned at her.  “Again, you amaze me.”

Constance returned the smile, before nodded toward the wood in her arms. “Well, don’t just stand there, take the dry pieces, so I can drop the rest.” 

Doing as ordered, Aramis grabbed the driest wood and knelt by the stone circle he only now noticed Constance had placed while he put up the tent.  Setting to, Aramis quickly had a small fire burning.    

“Your leg, then,” Constance stated bluntly, joining him be the fire and pushing him down from his kneeling crouch onto his bottom.  “I found the kit…”

Aramis grimaced at her, but dutifully widened the tear in his pants enough to get at the wound.  “Let me start,” he insisted.  “Warm your hands for a bit; my hands are already warmed from starting the fire.” 

“Let me clean if for you, at least,” Constance offered.  “The water is ice cold, and you’ll need warm fingers…” she explained as he began to protest.  Seeing the sense of her words, Aramis nodded.

The hissed as the water hit his bare leg, earning a sympathetic grimace from Constance. “I’m surprised the water can feel so cold when I’m sitting in snow,” he admitted, with a chuckle.  Constance patting his leg, before gently setting to with another torn bit of petticoat.  “The cold’s done the trick with the bleeding, anyway,” remarked Aramis, as a glance confirmed his earlier speculation.  “Go warm your hands now,” he prodded, as she finished up, then quickly balled her frozen fingers to preserve what little heat remained in them. 

Constance nodded wearily and shuffled aside, careful not to block his light as she settled near enough to the small blaze to warm her hands. 

Aramis focused so intently on the chore of sewing up the damaged muscle that he nearly forgot their arrangement.  Thus, he started slightly when Constance appeared abruptly beside him. 

“Sorry,” the murmured in unison, the grinned at each other. 

“You’re getting all fumbly,” Constance observed, when he quirked his head at her inquiringly.  

“All fumbly,” he parroted, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, all fumbly,” Constance repeated.  “Hand it over.  I’ll finish; you’ve managed the worst of it, anyway.”  

Aramis hesitated a moment, but then acquiesced without argument.  She was right, after all.  He’d managed all the but the top layer of skin, but now his hands were too cold again, and he was too weary, to do any more. 

Leaning back on his arms, Aramis let his head fall back.  He’d deny it asked, but he dozed lightly, barely aware of Constance and the needle.  Thus, Aramis started again as a hand prodded his shoulder.   Lifting his head, he met Constance’s sympathetic eyes.

“Come on,” she prodded, tugged at one arm as he creaked upright.  “I’ve laid out the bedroll to accommodate both of us as well as I could.  It’ll be close quarters, that’s for sure, but there’s naught to be done about it,” she acknowledged matter-of-factly.   

“The fire…” Aramis began, but Constance shushed him. 

“It’s well on its way to putting itself out, so don’t you worry,” she assured him, as she more dragged than assisted him into the tent and onto the bedding. 

He grimaced as she snuggled down beside him.   The dampness of earlier had frozen crisp her cloak and much of her dress.  You’ll freeze in the night wearing that.  Strip down,” Aramis suggested.  Constance responded with a frown, but Aramis just smiled wryly and assured, “As lovely as you are, my dear Constance, I’m much too weary to take notice of it this night, I assure you.”

Constance smiled wanly at that, before countering, “And you?” 

Aramis prized open his eyes, which had fallen closed without permission, and peered at her with bewilderment.

“Those leathers are freezing and your pants are crisp with snow and frozen blood,” she explained.  “You should strip, too.”

“Too tired,” Aramis confessed, letting his eyes droop shut again.  They squinted open again what felt like a second later, but he guessed was really several minutes, as he felt a hand tugging at his buckles.   His eyes wandered blearily for a moment before settling on Constance’s worried face.  She was stripped down to her underclothes, already, and had removed his outer pants, but his buckles were appearing to get the better of her.  Reaching up sleepily, he loosed the catches with a casual motion that bespoke years of practice, before gathering his remaining strength to sit up enough to shiver out of the cold leathers.  Once free of them, he settled back down again, asleep even before Constance had spread blankets atop them.  Thus, he was dutifully oblivious as she snuggled in against him, soaking in their shared warmth.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Warmth and exhaustion served to trap the pair in a deep sleep as the night fell and morning dawned.  The sun was, in fact, well into the sky before the first twitches of wakefulness stirred the tent.   

Waking first, Aramis barely processed that it was Constance snuggled close to him, as his consciousness struggled to place what had roused him.  His bleary mind was still struggling for comprehension as his soldier’s reflexes had him rising to his feet and groping for a weapon. 

“Aramis?”  Constance’s sleepy voice murmured from the ground.

“Ssh,” he replied, his mind having finally latched on the disturbance—horses! 

“Aramis!  Constance!”  The shouts reached his ears almost the exact moment comprehension reached his brain.

“D’Artagnan” breathed Constance dreamily.

Aramis grinned as he threw back the tent flap.   “Here!” he shouted, and waited, somewhat droopily, as the riders on the road dismounted and made their slow way through the snow to his small copse of trees. 

Not surprisingly d’Artagnan was the first to appear, and Aramis threw up his hand in preparation for an enthusiastic greeting, but his arms fell to his side as D’artagnan abruptly froze…except for his eyes, which flickered, almost frantically, from Aramis to behind Aramis and back again, several times.  With each flit, d’Artagnan’s expression grew colder, until Aramis began to wonder if his young friend’s gaze would finish what the snow and blood loss had started. 

Bewildered, Aramis took a step forward, but then found himself swept up in a tight bear hug, and realized Porthos, too, had entered their sanctuary.  

“Aramis,” Porthos greeted, with the enthusiasm Aramis had expected from d’Artagnan.  “You two had us worried to death!”  

“We’re not _that_ late,” protested Aramis, weakly. 

“True,” agree Athos, coming up beside Porthos to give Aramis a hardy clap on the shoulder.  “But when Constance’s horse came hobbling back through the snow all on its own, it was difficult to assume all was well,” he explained, with a wink. 

Aramis chuckled ruefully.  He had not even noticed that only his horse remained outside the tent.   “My apologies,” he begged, sincerely.  “I would not purposely have dragged you all out into this winter wonderland; we would have made it back on our own well enough.” 

Porthos and Athos guffawed in unison, but Aramis noticed only that d’Artagnan remained frozen still, but for the cold, furious glare fixed on Aramis.  

“You foolish, brainless, git!” he heard shouted from behind, breaking him free of his thrall. 

A moment later, a whirlwind of motion Aramis was too bleary yet to process, but comprehended could only be Constance, zipped past and blocked his view of his young, angry friend.   An instant later a slap resounded through their sanctuary.    _About time one of the others got a taste of that,_ Aramis couldn’t help from thinking as his brain registered that Constance had just slapped d’Artagnan.

“We were freezing and exhausted,” Constance began, in a tone of voice that tolerated no interruption.  “And Aramis was half bled to death!”  Aramis made a soft sound of protest, aware that his wound had hardly been as dire as all that, but Constance interjected a quick, “Naught from you, now!” and fixed her attention back onto d’Artagnan.  “And the first thought you have upon taking your sweet time coming to our rescue is to assume he’s bedded me!  Hmph!”  She slapped his other cheek for good measure.  “He’s your friend, for heaven’s sake!  You, nitwit!” She stomped away in a small circle, before lurching back up into d’Artagnan’s face.  “Well,” she fumed. “Say something!” 

“I, uh, erm, I…” d’Artagnan flinched away as Constance glowered at him.  “Um, my most humble apologies, Madame,” he finally managed, rather meekly, as the cold fury in his expression melted away into shame. 

“Not to me,” Constance insisted.  “To your friend….” She quirked her head toward Aramis.  “You know, the one who would no doubt have preferred to be cozied up beside a nice, toasty fire rather than escorting me across the freezing countryside, fighting robbers all on his own, and stitching himself up while sitting in the snow, for lack of a better place to do it.”  She seemed to seethe anew as she ranted. “You’d have preferred we’d frozen to death in the snow, I suppose…”

D’Artagnan’s expression had shifted from shame to near panic.  Thus, as much as the comprehension of his friend’s demeanor had initially stung, Aramis began to feel sorry for his young friend.  

“Fear for those dear to us and a feeling of helplessness manifests itself in unexpected ways, my dear Constance,” Aramis soothed, shakily.  “Rarely do such times bring out the best of any of us….” 

“Hmph!”  Constance replied, but d’Artagnan interrupted before she could continue her rant. 

“My most humble and sincere apologies, Aramis,” d’Artagnan offered in a firm voice.  “I thank you for keeping Constance safe and beg you forgive me for allowing myself to turn my helpless frustration into unfounded suspicion.  The only dishonor here is mine own, for there is no doubt in my heart that you are a man of honor, and, I hope…”  His expression shifted again into wary hope, as he added,   
“my friend, still.”

Striding forward, Aramis clasped him by the arm and assured, “It is forgotten.”

“Well, then, how about breakfast?”  Porthos declared, successfully dissolving the remaining tension filling their small space.  “Cheese and bread,” he announced, pulling out several well-wrapped bundles.  Unwrapping one, he sniffed it hungrily, before adding, “ _Almost_ warm still.”

The other grinned nearly in unison, and coming together, each held out a hand to be covered by another—except for Constance, who settled herself between d’Artagnan and Aramis, an arm around each.    

“Brothers!” the affirmed in unison.  “Always!”

The end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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